


Aflame

by Blue_Five



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Hale Fire, Hellhound Jordan Parrish, M/M, Werewolves, phoenix legend, phoenix stiles
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-16
Updated: 2018-03-04
Packaged: 2018-05-20 23:06:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 19,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6028789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blue_Five/pseuds/Blue_Five
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek met Stiles on the worst day of his life.  Of course it makes total sense that he would fall in love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Feather

**Author's Note:**

  * For [raindancemaggie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/raindancemaggie/gifts).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> raindancemaggie AKA i-am-sterekd .... this was supposed to be your Valentine's gift. But, as you can see, after writing the first chapter, I knew it was never going to stay under 3k. I hope you like my creation even though it's going to come slowly and long after Valentine's. I do know how it all ends. :-)

Peter entered his office silently through a door only he knew about. His lips quirked as he observed a small dark-headed boy precariously perched on a chair by the desk.  He winced as the rubber-soled tennis shoes squeaked over the polished wood seat.  Not that there was much of the foot in contact with it anyway – like most pups, the boy’s spatial understanding and balance requirements wasn’t fully developed.  He was barely gripping the edge of the chair with his toes while the rest of his body stretched across the gap and his weight was all on the palms of his hands held up by two locked arms while he gazed at his goal.  Peter observed that the chair was sliding backward by degrees on the rug.  Just as he noted this, the boy lifted one hand to reach toward the forbidden prize.  Weight distribution now disturbed, the chair slid out from under the feet and a yelp escaped the boy as his upper body headed for a painful meeting with the desk-edge.  Eyes squeezed shut in anticipation of impact; it took a minute for the boy to realize he wasn’t falling.  He peeked with one eye and found Peter looking down at him, a very unamused expression on his face.

“Hi, granddad,” he offered weakly.

Peter snorted and hooked the chair with one foot. Pulling it back to the desk, he deposited the boy on the seat and leaned against the desk edge, arms crossed.  The pup chewed on his lower lip.

“Where to begin, young Derek?” Peter said solemnly. “You’re in my office, which you know is off-limits to pups.  You were after something on my desk which is _definitely_ off-limits to pups and you nearly hurt yourself badly in the attempt.”

Defiant green eyes looked up. “I woulda healed!” Derek seemed to consider his statement and offered a concession.  “It woulda hurt but I would’ve been ok.”

“Would you?” Peter asked. He sighed as the boy frowned in confusion.  “Derek, the wolf gives our bodies the ability to heal faster and better than humans, true … it doesn’t make us invincible.  You _can_ be hurt badly enough to not recover, pup.  And as thick as that skull of yours is, werewolf healing won’t help if you crack it open on the edge of a solid mahogany desk.”

Derek’s face fell. “Sorry, granddad.”

Peter ruffled the despondent pup’s hair. “No harm done … _this time_.  I understand how much the wolf drives you to push yourself … Lord knows, your namesake was _constantly_ testing his limits.”

“Cousin Derek?”

“Yes … my nephew. He was just as willful as you are sometimes.  You remind me a great deal of him, as a matter of fact,” Peter said fondly.

“Did he die? Mommy won’t tell me … she says I’m too young to understand,” Derek asked.  His lip-chewing morphed into a pout, arms now crossed indignantly across the small chest.

Peter chuckled. “You’re six now?”

“I’ll be seven in two weeks!” Came the instant qualifier.

Peter nodded gravely. “ _Seven_ … my, my.  Well, I think that’s old enough but for now let’s keep it our little secret, hmm?”

Derek nodded gravely. Peter picked up the glass domed container from his desk and placed it in front of Derek.  Inside, a single crimson feather floated in the center.  The edges curled and winked with spots of orange deepening to red and back again like a charred log in the fire, perpetually burning and renewing.  The shaft was the deepest blood-black.  A nimbus the color of late summer sunset amber surrounded the feather.  It was almost hypnotic to watch it bob lightly under the glass.  He lifted the dome and let the feather settle on his hand.  It was warm.  He held toward Derek.

“One finger only and gently, pup,” Peter warned.

The boy stared in awe before extending a single pudgy digit to stroke the vane. He inhaled sharply at the warmth but realized that it did not hurt.  A giggle escaped the boy, lightening the solemn moment.

“It tingles!”

Peter pulled the feather away with a raised eyebrow. He set it carefully back over the base and returned the dome to cover it.  The feather rose to bob in the center air again.  He put the container back in its place on his desk and regarded his youngest grandson.

“Tingles, eh? Well now … maybe you and your long-departed cousin have more in common than I know.”

“Did I – did I do something wrong?” Derek asked, looking at his fingers guiltily.

Peter shook his head. He walked over to one of the large windows in the room and motioned for the pup to join him.  Derek scrambled up on the cushioned windowsill and looked out where Peter pointed.

“Do you see the large boulder there?”

Derek nodded. “Mommy said it’s to remind us of people who died a long time ago.”

“ _Family_ who died long ago,” Peter gently corrects.  “Two human members of the Hale pack who were killed when Hunters set fire to our home and trapped us inside.”

Derek looked up and fear spiked his scent. “H-hunters?”

Peter sat down and let Derek clamber into his lap. He gently rubbed circles on the boy’s back while the youngster inhaled deeply, little uneasy tremors ran through the small body.  Derek knew well-enough about Hunters who only desired to kill those with supernatural abilities.  Even in this day and age, it was still a frightening topic.

“It was a long time ago, pup … before all humans were aware of the supernatural. Now we have an understanding with the Hunters that remain in Beacon Hills -- as long as we don’t harm humans indiscriminately, they will not harm us.  It’s easy enough to keep that pact now that humans know about our existence and don’t see us as only ‘monsters’,” Peter explained. 

Once the boy was calmer, Peter leaned back and looked at the trees that still formed the Preserve.

“It was a long time ago but in my head it’s truly like it was yesterday. In the middle of a moonless night, the Pack woke up and found the house on fire.  Derek, my nephew, had been lured away from home and came back in time to see flames shooting up into the air but he couldn’t reach any of us because the Hunters that had set the trap were canny and knew how to hurt werewolves.  They’d carefully laid mountain ash throughout the house and around it.  The fire was set with torches filled with wolfsbane so it made smoke that was thick and poisonous.”

Derek whined and his familiar moss-green eyes swelled with tears as a lower lip trembled. The door to the office opened suddenly, making the little wolf yelp in fear and throw his arms around Peter’s neck.  Peter held his grandson firmly, murmuring softly.  His daughter stalked over to them, eyes blazing with all the protective force of a she-coyote protecting her pup.  She practically wrenched Derek from his grandfather’s arms, sighing as the little boy whimpered against her neck.

“ _Peter,”_ Malia growled.  “What have I told you?  He’s too _young_.”

“He was old enough to seek out the feather and ask the question, daughter dear,” Peter replied but he let her walk out of the room carrying Derek. Moss green eyes watched Peter until they disappeared behind a door.

* * *

It was late that night when Peter heard bare feet on the polished wood main floor. He had been at the window for the remainder of the day, refusing even dinner as memories weighed heavy.  The only light in the room was the steady amber glow of the feather in its glass cage.

The doorknob turned slowly and the heavy door was pushed open just wide enough to allow entry to a small form wearing pajamas patterned with sharks. The door was closed again just as slowly with the handle turned to keep it from clicking shut.  Peter allowed the tiniest uptick of his mouth at that.

_You are more like him than you know, pup,_ Peter thought to himself.

His grandson padded across the room to where Peter sat. The elder werewolf regarded him sternly.

“I’m going to assume your mother doesn’t know you are here,” he stated.

Derek chewed on his lower lip and shook his head.

“And why _are_ you here, pup?  You proved you weren’t ready for the tale this afternoon.  Even at nearly seven,” Peter added.

Derek frowned and approached his grandfather. Even at six, almost seven, Derek understood pack hierarchy and dynamics.  As Alpha of the Hale pack, Peter ruled with a tight hand.  His anger was not something anyone wanted directed at them.  Derek certainly didn’t.  Yet he’d never really felt fear around his grandfather.  Even if Peter had punished him this afternoon for his trespass, Derek wouldn’t have been afraid.  Upset, but that wouldn’t have lasted.  Peter was one of the few adults who didn’t talk to Derek like he was ‘just a pup’.  And Derek was determined to prove himself brave enough to hear the story he’d been dying to know since he first saw the feather.  His mom didn’t believe him but he could remember the day exactly.  He’d only been eight months old and riding in his father’s arms.  The minute he saw the lovely burning plume, Derek had been in love with it and its mystery.  He never missed an opportunity to peek when the office door was open.  Today was the first day he’d had the nerve to try and touch it alone. 

Standing in front of his grandfather, their faces illuminated by the soft roiling light, Derek swallowed and straightened his back to look defiantly at Peter.

“I’m not afraid, granddad. I wanna hear the story.  I wanna know where it came from.”

Peter shook his head. “No, I think your mother was right.  You are too young for it yet.  It doesn’t get any easier from where we left off.”

Derek shook his head and managed as close to a growl as he could at his age. “I don’t care.  I’m big enough.  I can take it.”

A hand tousled his hair while Peter chuckled. Fingers tilted Derek’s obstinate chin up until he could see his grandfather’s eyes gleam red.  Derek grinned then.  He knew he’d won.  Peter sighed and patted his thighs, pulling his grandson close and wrapping his arms securely around the little boy.  Instinct told the pup to tuck himself close and enjoy the warm safety of Peter’s embrace.  The older werewolf smiled as his chin rested on Derek’s head.  His nephew would _never_ have allowed this even when he was as young as his tiny doppelgänger … Peter took a deep breath and began talking as if he’d never stopped the story.  He kept a firm grip around Derek to reassure the pup that he was protected. 

“The house was full of wolfsbane smoke and because of the ash, Derek couldn’t reach us. He tried and tried to break it but he wasn’t strong enough.  The trap herded us into the basement.  It was so hard to breath.  I was trying to break out one of the windows when both Derek and I saw something we would never forget for the rest of our lives . . . . ”


	2. A Fire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm tickled at the response this one received. Just a few notes - Peter is telling a story to a six (almost seven) year old so we'll assume that the version his grandson hears is G-Rated. What the Reader sees will fall under the rating for this fic so when you see intense or intimate scenes you can know that little Derek isn't getting all the gruesome details. Malia would kill Peter otherwise.
> 
> Warnings: this chapter contains descriptions of individuals being killed by flame and claw. Be warned.

Derek lay pinned to the ground, held in place by a stun baton pressed hard against the back of his neck. His spine sang with agony as the rod pulsed with white-hot electric shocks.  Derek imagined his nerve-endings looked like Christmas tree lights – flashing with each surge.  Before tonight, Derek would have been hard-pressed to imagine anything that could hurt as much as Kate Argent’s favorite little torture device.  As it was, in that moment, he barely noticed the pain.  It was infinitesimal compared to the all-consuming anguish that flooded his very soul at the sound of his family dying not twenty feet from where he lay, helpless. 

Derek couldn’t even howl his grief because of the muscle spasms making his jaw clench. His claws dug deep into the ground beneath his hands, releasing the smell of fresh earth and torn grass into his nose.  It wasn’t enough to overpower the stench of smoke and flame.  His eyes stung from the wolfsbane but it wasn’t the only reason tears cut sharp paths down his soot-covered face.  Screams and shouting floated on the hot air from the basement window just in front of him.  Kate — sadistic bitch — had deliberately taken Derek down where he would have a front-row seat to the exact spot in the house the Hunters little trap had herded his family.  A hoarse sob managed to escape his vocal cords.

A hand began to pet him and Derek wished for nothing else but the ability to rip it and the entire arm it was attached to from the lithe body he could picture above him. He didn’t have to see her to know that Kate was smiling that twisted little grin of hers.  He heard her chuckle.

“Don’t worry, handsome … I won’t let you suffer once they’re all gone. I’ll put you right out of your misery as soon as the rest of the dog pack is dead,” the Hunter holding him pinned sneered.

Derek felt his stomach rebel at her words. It would serve him right to die on his own vomit in the dirt like an animal.  After all, it was entirely _his_ fault she had been able to plan this – the cold-blood slaughter of his pack.  Derek wondered just how insane he’d actually been to think _she_ had been his most beautiful lover.  He knew all too well now that she was a hell spawned demon in a curvaceous blonde body.  He swore his last breath would be full of her blood because his teeth were going to be buried in her throat.

 _“... kill … you …”_ Derek somehow croaked between shocks.

Kate’s laugh was sickeningly bright considering where they what was happening around them. “Baby, _you_ did this!  All I had to do was smile and you came sniffing like the mutt you are!  You led me right in the front door!  Invited me for dinner!”

A loud crash sounded from the direction of the house and Derek rolled his eyes back as far as he could to see part of the roof beginning to collapse. He made a gurgling whine and refused to be ashamed a moment later when he tried to beg.

_“… please … no … humans …”_

Kate gave a disgusted snort. “ _Humans_ … you mean the perverts who live with flea-bitten mongrels like you.”  She made a thoughtful sound.  “You know … maybe I _won’t_ kill you right after.  We could chain you up in our little dungeon … let you go feral …”

Derek’s breath hitched and despair the likes of which he’d never known sank deep into his heart. His family … his pack … everything he knew and loved was going to die tonight and Kate would watch while he lost mind in the aftermath.  He had little doubt they would release him then and use him as a way to strike terror into the humans of Beacon Hills.  He prayed then that somehow he would die before the Hunters could make him into a mindless animal.

 _“… please …”_ Derek exhaled.  His eyes slid shut for what he hoped would be the last time.

A hot, dry wind gusted over Derek with a rumble. Derek moaned in the back of his throat and pressed his face to the ground.  The house had to have collapsed.  Logic told him that if he looked, he would see a pile of burning ruins – the funeral pyre for his loved ones.  He did not look because he did not want to see.  And then he heard something else.  Something very, very loud.

A screech tore through the air. It echoed across the Preserve.  Windows close enough to the shock wave shattered or cracked.  Houses trembled and dogs sent howls into the night.  Birds flew from their roosts and wildlife from everywhere startled out of dens and burrows.  Derek barely had time to register what he’d heard when Kate screamed and the savage pain from the rod suddenly ended.  He opened his eyes and turned his head to see the Hunter drop her stunner and fall on her backside next him before scrambling backwards to escape the -- Derek rolled over onto his back and blinked in shock at what was attacking Kate.

It was a bird. The sound he’d heard had come from a bird larger than any he’d ever seen or imagined.  Its body was longer than Derek was tall and it was possessed of a corresponding wingspread.  A nimbus of amber flame seemed to outline the dark blood-red feathers.  It slashed with at the screaming blonde woman with feet tipped by obsidian talons.  One managed to graze her and it sliced through her leather jacket, shirt and the underlying muscle as if it were nothing.  Kate’s scream traveled up the register and Derek saw the wink of white bone before blood began to gush down her arm and it hung uselessly at her side.  Kate managed to gain her feet and she ran pell-mell from the creature.  Derek heard shouting that had to be other Hunters but he had no time to care.

The bird landed with a ground-shaking thud beside Derek and he had a glimpse of glass-like amber eyes shining in the night. He stood transfixed as it dipped the tip of one wing onto the mountain ash.  With a flare that sent blue lines of energy into the sky, the ash burned away in a swift trail around the entire house.  Derek gaped as he realized the barrier holding him from the house was gone.  He didn’t bother to look back at the bird before he stumbled forward.  It took his fogged brain a moment longer to realize a hand had stopped him.  He rounded on the owner with a snarl and found himself staring into the most intense _human_ amber-colored eyes he’d ever seen.  The young man who was somehow standing in place of the firebird shouted to be heard over the roaring of the fire.

“No! Call the fire department!  I’ll get them out!”

A phone was pressed into Derek’s hands and he looked at it, trying to understand. His mind was working so _slowly._ Derek hissed in the next minute at a searing pain on his arm.  He bared his fangs and flashed his eyes at the other man who stepped back, a glowing handprint left behind to fade away without a mark.

“Sorry, wolfy but I need you in the here and now! Call the fire department!  Hurry!”

With that, the slender-framed man turned and ran to the basement window. Derek somehow managed to dial 911 and give his pertinent information to the operator before the phone fell out of nerveless fingers.

His mysterious savior gripped the bars that had been placed over the window and yelled for everyone to move back. The smoke was thick and Derek could see the orange glow of fire from where he stood but the man didn’t even seem fazed.  Instead, he took firm hold and pulled.  The bars and the window frame came out of the wall.  He tossed them aside and dove into the house without hesitation.  Derek stared because the young man had only worn a dark t-shirt and khaki jeans with tennis shoes.  Moments later, Peter scrambled out of the basement.  Derek moved then.  He ran to his uncle’s side and slid an arm around his pack mate as Peter coughed and gagged.  His support was roughly shoved away as Peter fell to his knees and pulled bodies from the dark hole in the wall.  Derek found himself holding his sister, Cora.  As if a switch had finally been flipped, Derek emerged from his daze.  He quickly carried her away from the house and went back for the next one.  Derek let his mind slip into the task.  Help one pack mate to the gathering point, go back, bring another person out to safety … it was something he could do to make his horrible, horrible mistake right again. 

Finally, when Derek turned back to go to the house, there were no other bodies being handed to him. There was only Peter who pulled him into a tight hug and the strange young man who stood, covered in soot but completely unbothered by the heat or smoke.  Derek knew what he’d seen and he knew what the unlikely hero _was_ in terms of supernatural origin but his mind was exhausted along with his body.  Derek sagged against his uncle, too worn to attempt solving the mystery.  He heard the faint wail of sirens and knew that, at last, help was coming.  Peter picked up on the sound as well and moved to guide Derek to the clearing where their pack and family lay scattered.  It would later be telling to everyone present at the condition of the werewolves and humans that no one heard Gerard Argent come crashing through the woods that edged the Hale property until it was too late.  Derek and Peter whipped around together to see the older man charging toward them with a rifle held at the ready.  Everything after that moment happened in snapshot scenes in Derek’s memory.  Derek tried to pull Peter behind him as the elder werewolf attempted to do the same … both wolves were tackled to the ground by their lone liberator … Gerard raised his weapon to fire point-blank and everything became fire.

The bird from before flared into life, wings expanding wide from the young man’s arms as his form lengthened and morphed into the enormous avian the color of blood. The halo around the beast flared to life only this time actual flames seemed to stretch out from the tip of every feather.  An ebony beak opened and the harsh, piercing cry of earlier rang out but it was buoyed on an inferno that enveloped Gerard.  The Hunter made an aborted scream and threw one arm up as the fire wrapped itself around him.  His clothes and weapon were gone between one breath and the next.  Gerard’s skin followed, the flame burrowed deeper and deeper into the blackened mass of what had once been a human being before there simply wasn’t anything left but a crackling skeleton and then that disappeared too.  The ash swirled within the dancing conflagration before it was gone and the night breeze dissipated the earthly remains of Gerard Argent into the air.

A wail pierced the air and Derek found himself wavering unsteadily as Peter’s support disappeared beside him. His uncle shifted into his beta form and met the wild-eyed form of Kate as she ran toward them.  Derek watched three other wolves in his pack move to join Peter and Kate, surrounding the human woman.  Kate’s screams became louder for a moment before Peter’s clawed hand raised up and came down in an arc that sent blood fountaining.  The shadows converged on the blonde and Derek thought he saw her gaze settle on him briefly before she was whisked away, the rustle of branches all that marked their passage into the woods.  He saw the young man – human again – walk to the blood-stained ground and slowly swipe his tennis-shoe clad foot over it.  Wisps of smoke drifted up and Derek knew the evidence of Kate’s demise was gone.  Wherever his uncle and his pack mates had taken the woman, her body would never be found.

The sickening sound of a rifle round being chambered drew everyone’s attention. Derek wanted to whine and collapse on the ground but he found a hand on his elbow, holding him steady.  The smell of burnt matches made his nose twitch but he didn’t look.  He just accepted the support.  He saw his mother, Talia, step out of the soot-blackened huddle of bodies to approach the Hunter now standing on the other side of the clearing, surrounded by other armed humans.  The sirens drew closer. 

Christopher Argent, heir to his family’s legacy now, stood with his rifle pointing at the ground. Derek had little doubt he could raise it and fire in short order if he felt threatened and a thrill of worry for his mother flared through him.  She was the Alpha of the Hale pack.  Her death would have been an enormous coup for the Argent clan – it still would be.  Derek wasn’t the only one thinking this – his pack was already gathering behind Talia. 

Derek suddenly noticed that Chris’ eyes weren’t focused and full of death like Kate’s had been. Instead, they were wide and haunted.  It made sense.  After all, he’d just seen the death of his father and the leader of his clan as well as his sister tonight but there was more to the desolation in that gaze.  Derek realized he didn't recognize the Hunters standing behind Chris as the same ones that had incapacitated him with Kate.

“You … you weren’t part of this,” Derek said slowly.

Chris looked over at him with a lost expression. He shook his head and turned back to Talia.  “I – Gerard had been planning an attack.  I knew that but I didn’t know details.  We – I hadn’t spoken to him or Kate for months.”  The last remaining Argent hung his head.  “I don't know if I would have stopped them, but this -- this isn't my Code any longer.  No more.  Not tonight.  Not ever, if I have my say.”

Talia opened her mouth as if to say something when the loud blare of a fire engine horn shattered the moment. Chris waved his men back into the smoke-filled shadows and he looked at the remnants of the Hale pack one last time before disappearing into the night himself.  Firemen, police and EMTs descended on the site, seeing what they expected to see -- a family huddled together in front of a scene of devastation.  The veil that kept the human world of Beacon Hills from knowing about the parallel world that existed so close descended.  It was over for now.  Derek broke free of his savior’s hand and staggered to his mother’s side, no longer strong enough to stand apart.  His wolf whined and begged for absolution.  Fresh tears dripped down Derek's face as he fell to his knees in front of his mother and Alpha.  Behind him, streams of water began playing over the gutted remains of what had been their home.  Talia threaded her fingers gently into Derek's hair as he clung to her legs, apologizing again and again.

“Mom … I’m sorry … I’m so sorry …”

Only Peter, on his way back from disposing of a body he never wanted to see again, saw a large firebird winging its way into the night sky, trailing a faint glimmering aura of amber.


	3. A Finding

Derek stared at the smoldering remains of his home. The edges of the foundation were just visible in places, bordering the debris-filled hole that had once been the basement.  He could pick out some bits and pieces of furniture that was still recognizable but nothing was completely intact.  What remained of the house itself was dangerously unstable – the light breeze made the sagging, charred walls creak alarmingly.  Derek had already heard parts of the roof falling down into the mess below.  He took a deep inhale and was rewarded immediately with a series of rib cracking sneezes.  The bitter, choking smell of wolfsbane permeated everything even though the water from the fire trucks and the wind had diluted it somewhat.

Derek stood at the front door which was holding on valiantly to the door frame by two hinges. The toes of his boots were at the edge of the porch and the next step forward would not take him into what had once been a wide and warm entryway floored with rich, polished, carmel-colored hardwood but down into the basement below because the floor was gone.  It was like standing at the boundary of two separate worlds – the front wall of the house had more or less survived on the main floor.  If he didn’t look too closely at anything, he could almost imagine that outside nothing had been touched.  But beyond the door, all the evidence of his horrific betrayal lay in a jumbled, blackened, smoking heap.  He reached out to run a thumb over one pane that wasn’t broken and released a sparkle of green into the afternoon light.  It brought to mind the two human cousins who hadn’t survived last night – their lungs and bodies not strong enough to survive the smoke inhalation.  The glass blurred as Derek shoved his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket and blew out a hard breath, hunched over with the weight of his shame settled across his shoulders.

“It’s not your fault, Wolfy.”

The wolf reacted and spun around before Derek’s rational, human mind could curb it. A low, vibrating snarl left Derek’s mouth between his fangs. He didn’t recall shifting to his beta form, but Derek’s body responded to being caught off-guard by a stranger -- claws slashed the air in front of him as his legs tensed in preparation to move him out of harm’s way. There was no one behind him.  Derek frowned and his eyes searched the area.  He grunted in surprise when his gaze found the newcomer and also realized he was standing several feet away by the Preserve tree line that edged the front lawn of Derek’s former home. In the light of day, it was even harder to see the supernatural creature that had literally descended from the sky and saved nearly his entire pack.  As his beta form receded, Derek studied the young man standing at the edge of the trees.  He was completely unassuming and yet Derek could sense the power that he’d witnessed the previous night. Of a height with Derek, the younger man wore dark jeans and a blue t-shirt with a bull’s-eye pattern on the front, well-worn Cons gracing his feet. Amber eyes watched Derek from beneath dark tousled bangs and he noticed that the thin line of the man's mouth seemed perpetually on the verge of breaking into a full smile.  His wolf stirred and Derek found himself suddenly imagining what that smile might look like if turned on him.  He schooled his emotions into something more appropriate and frowned, grasping at the obvious distance between them.

“You don't need to keep your distance. I'm not going to bite,” Derek snapped irritably.

A light chuckle carried across the yard and Derek knew a normal human would never have heard it. The man was familiar with werewolf senses.  “So says the man who just pulled a Lon Chaney, Jr. on me.”

Derek pursed his lips in irritation as he stalked across the lawn.

“Wow. Doesn’t that hurt?”

Derek blinked. “Does what hurt?”

“Your eyebrows … I’ve never seen anyone frown so _hard_ before, Wolfy,” the young man commented. He contorted his face into an exaggerated scowl.

“I don’t look like that,” Derek grumbled. “And why do you keep calling me ‘Wolfy’?”

“Well, you _are_ a wolf ...”

Derek growled. “ _Were_ wolf and my _name_ is Derek.  Derek Hale.”

“Stiles Stilinski. Resident phoenix.  You know, in case you missed the fire-breathing bird that landed on your lawn last night,” Stiles replied, his mouth sliding into a crooked grin. A moment later the smile was gone and Derek felt the loss keenly.  “I’m sorry for _that_ –“ Stiles waved a hand at the burned-out home. “I’m glad I picked last night to do a little starlight flying but fuck I wish we’d met under different circumstances. Spilled coffee and an awkward apology date or something … anything but last night.”

Derek felt his throat tighten as memories of the fire assaulted him and he cleared his throat awkwardly. He purposely made himself ignore the buried reference to a date because as much as he wanted to deny it, Derek realized he was attracted to this young man.  Maybe it was the literal way the phoenix had swooped in and saved everyone – regardless, Derek knew it wasn’t right and he, of all people, had no reason to anticipate anything good to come from the worst night of his existence. He stumbled over his next words feeling the need to offer his gratitude.

“I – you saved us all, Stiles. My mom … she’s the pack alpha … have you--?”

Stiles pushed a hand through his hair. Derek followed the motion but looked away quickly when Stiles’ eyes flickered back up. The phoenix shook his head.

“No … she’s talking to my dad now … discussing the ‘arson’ investigation,” Stiles said, air-quotes almost disdainful. “When I heard you wouldn’t be at the meeting, I figured you’d come here.”

Derek swallowed. Stiles had _known_ he would come back to his lost home and … had followed? It made no sense to him or his wolf.  He kept telling himself he couldn’t be attracted to the young man. He didn’t deserve that, after what he’d done. He said the first thing that came to mind.

“Is … is the sheriff a phoenix too?”

Stiles’ met Derek’s gaze steadily but there was no reluctance or deceit in it. Derek tried to push back the unfamiliar sensations but he was captured by the frank, open trust in Stiles’ eyes. The faint scent of burned matches laced the air around Stiles and Derek’s nostrils flared. Stiles didn’t indicate he’d noticed.

“Nope – it’s that whole rebirth thing. Every new life is just that – fresh and clear. I keep my memories but this go around is the one and only time I’ll be wearing this handsome mug,” Stiles explained, dramatically flipping his hair as if he had long, flowing locks.

Derek snorted in spite of his resolve to maintain a stoic expression while wallowing in his guilt and misery. The snort turned into a chuckle which grew into a harsh barked laugh before it all melted down into a hiccupping mess and Derek found himself holding onto a stranger while his grief tore itself out of him.  His words were jumbled and punched out of him in helpless cries.

“ … just kids … just fucking kids … she … I didn’t know … didn’t see … stupid stupid stupid …”

Stiles took hold of Derek’s wrists as the werewolf began to slap his fists against his forehead. A normal human wouldn’t do too much damage to themselves, but Derek’s wolf was out to self-castigate. They sank slowly to the ground and Derek curled over, gripping his hair in tight fists.  Stiles knelt in front of Derek, tears trickling down his own face.  He slowly threaded his fingers into the hair he could reach and gently scratched there.  He wondered if he was playing into the ‘dog’ analogy too much but figured Derek’s wolf was more in control than his human side.

His dad had explained that two of the Hale pack didn’t survive the fire when Stiles came downstairs that morning. He’d pointedly ignored Stiles’ effort to explain what he’d been doing at the Hale house in the first place and simply hugged his son. Stiles suspected that the sheriff knew about Gerard Argent’s demise. Which meant John Stilinski understood the price that was going to be exacted from his son – Stiles looked down at the miserable werewolf sobbing in front of him and decided he didn’t care. He’d had a strong scent of leather and cinnamon settled in his nose since the previous night. Derek Hale was his … for as long as his life allowed, the wolf before him was his and the phoenix intended to make every minute count.


	4. A Disclosure

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I agonized over this chapter but now it's in your hands, dear readers. Enjoy.

Stiles grimaced as Derek placed his coffee order—large, dark roast black.  His own order was, in his opinion, much more user-friendly and tasty.  He didn’t hesitate to explain the concept of sweetness and flavor to be found in a lovely vanilla latte with half and half.  Derek eyed it warily and shuddered when Stiles added a dollop of honey to the concoction.  Stiles rolled his eyes.

"Don't give me the hairy eyeball, wolfy," Stiles warned. "You're the one drinking something that could probably strip my Jeep engine clean. I thought werewolves were supposed to like _mild_ flavors in their food."

Derek shrugged. “You may have noticed I never do things the way I’m supposed to – that’s why it always goes to shit.”

He chose a two-top in a corner. It didn't escape Stiles' notice that the location gave the wolf a clear view of the main door and was close to the tiny hallway that led to the back of the store and the bathrooms.  Stiles guessed Derek knew where the best points of egress were for every building in Beacon Hills where he spent time indoors.  He slid into the seat across from Derek and sipped his drink.  He tried to ignore the sideways glances from other patrons.  The joy of living in a small town – tragedy traveled faster than he could ever hope to fly.

“Sounding a little fatalistic there, Derek.”

The werewolf snorted and turned his cup in his hands, staring at the miniature ripples in the liquid surface. He looked up to find the arresting amber eyes glued on him.  Derek felt his ears heat and the hairs on the back of his neck rise.  He shrugged again.

“Stiles, you saw what the Argents did to my family,” Derek said softly, looking back down at his coffee. “I’ve lost two cousins – regular, normal, human kids who didn’t deserve to die that way. I lost them because I was too stupid to realize Kate was using me to gather intel on my family.”

Stiles gave a snort then. Derek looked up to find the young man regarding him with a completely unimpressed expression on his face.  Stiles shook his head and Derek tried desperately _not_ to notice the way the dark brown strands flopped and settled with the motion.  He drank a large gulp of his coffee and winced when it burned all the way down his throat.

“Easy, wolfy … you might heal but that had to hurt,” Stiles said. His fingertips brushed over Derek’s arm. “I told you already ... it wasn't your fault.”

“You can say that all you want, Stiles ... it was still me that led Kate to my pack,” Derek said. “I just – she was so --”

“She was a looker and probably a wildcat in bed so you acted like any other healthy male,” Stiles interrupted quietly. “It's not a crime to enjoy yourself, wolfy. Did you know she was an Argent?”

Derek looked up, eyes narrowed. “ _No_ ... do you seriously think I would have let her _near_ me if I'd known?”  Stiles pulled Derek's cup from shaking hands.  “I – I knew Gerard had a daughter but she was off in France or somewhere – school. I don't know – I didn't listen all the time at the pack debriefs. God, you must think I'm pathetic.”

Stiles' hand was suddenly wrapped around Derek's. It gripped his tightly and warmth began to sink into his flesh which until now he hadn't realized was chilled.  He stared at the hand until his vision began to blur with tears. 

“Come on, wolfy. Let's get out of here,” Stiles said.

Derek let the young man pull him upright and out the door. He stared blankly out the window as they pulled away from the coffee shop and headed out of town.  Stiles said nothing; he just hummed softly to the song playing on the radio – something about cake and the ocean? Derek blinked and shook his head, wiping angrily at the tears that simply wouldn't stop.  He shuddered when Stiles reached over and gripped his hand again.  It took everything Derek had in him to keep from jerking his arm away.  How could this magnificent creature even _think_ of touching him?  Why was he here, taking care of Derek like this? 

“Because I think you're something special, wolfy.”

Derek looked up in shock. _Shit, I said that out loud._

“You don't even know me,” Derek croaked. “You saw what I did ... to my own family—”

Stiles sighed. “For the last time, Derek – _you_ didn't do anything.  Kate tricked you – used you, ok? You're allowed to --”

“Look at my eyes, Stiles!”

Stiles looked over and saw a pair of gleaming blue orbs looking back at him. His eyebrows raised and he looked back at the road.  Then he shrugged.

“Ok?”

Derek cursed. “I thought you knew about werewolves.”

“I do, wolfy. Blue eyes mean you've taken the life of an innocent,” Stiles retorted. “And? What, you think I _haven't_ in my time?  Hello? _Gerard_?  That was just last night, Derek – hope your memory isn't always this bad.”

“Gerard wasn't innocent!” Derek snarled. “He hunted anyone that didn't fit his version of normal! He murdered members of packs all over this part of California – he _deserved_ to die!”

Derek roared in anger and slammed his fist against the passenger side window which shattered under the assault. He looked at his bloodied hand in shock, unable to believe that he'd lost control.  Then he was bracing himself on the dashboard as Stiles made a fairly dangerous turn off the highway onto a barely visible dirt road.  He opened his mouth to as where the hell they were going but the look on the young man’s face did not bode well for questions. He held on through all the bumps and turns until the road evened out a bit and Derek found himself parked in front of a small cabin.  The smell of trees and fresh air assaulted him.  His wolf paced eagerly.  Stiles shut off the engine before turning to the werewolf.  He held up his thumb.

“First, you are _so_ paying to replace that window,” Stiles said sternly. He held up his index finger.  “Two, I'm hoping you were listening and heard yourself admit that Gerard was meat to be wasted.”  His middle finger joined the other two.  “Three, last night wasn't the first time I've ever seen you, idiot. My dad's the sheriff – he's known your pack almost as long as he's lived here and been on the force. My mom too ... before she died.”  Stiles looked Derek directly in the eyes, his amber gaze glowing.  “I've lived a lotta lives, wolfy. While it doesn't make it any easier, I'm not going to lose any sleep over crisping someone like Gerard.  Not when it means I saved someone like you.”

“Someone like ... me?” Derek hated how soft and uncertain his voice sounded. “Stiles ... I'm not --”

With an annoyed groan, Stiles leaned across the seats and kissed Derek. Like every other touch from the phoenix, the young man's lips were warm ... invitingly so.  Derek opened his mouth and inhaled sharply at the steamy heat surrounding Stiles' tongue.  The phoenix pulled back, grinning.

“Sorry about that ... occupational hazard,” Stiles murmured, his eyes hooded.

Derek slipped his hand up to cup Stiles nape and pull him back into the kiss. “Don't hear me complaining, do you?”

The kiss was slow and hot (literally). Derek's mouth watered in a desperate attempt to bring down the temperature and he couldn't help but chuckle when it all seemed to evaporate as Stiles' tongue caressed over and around his own.  When they finally parted, the sun was beginning to set, meaning they’d been making out in front of the cabin for nearly an hour. Derek blinked.  It had been a long time since he’d gotten that lost in a kiss.

“That was ... different,” Derek commented, licking his chapping lips.

Stiles reached in the back seat of his Jeep and pulled a bottle of water out of a conveniently placed cooler. Derek chugged it gratefully.  Stiles handed over a tube of lip balm next, which made Derek raise an eyebrow.  Stiles looked sheepish.

“Yeah ... I might have previous experience in this area, wolfy,” Stiles offered with a shrug. “Ya wanna make out more than once, you learn to keep certain supplies handy.”

“How do you explain _that_ to a human?” Derek asked.

“I can regulate my body temp a _little_ ... so I try to tone it down if it's a non-aware human.  If it's someone that knows about ... things ... I just keep 'em hydrated,” Stiles explained. “I usually don’t get much play with normal humans for that reason, more’s the pity.”

Derek frowned and looked out at the darkening forest. He got out of the Jeep and leaned against it.  Stiles slid out on his side and came around to look at the werewolf.  Stiles’ hand did an aborted jerk toward him before retracting to be jammed into a pocket.

“Derek? Did I say something?”

“No ... it's just,” Derek ran a hand down his face. He gathered his thoughts.  “You talk about interacting with aware and non-aware humans so easily. Like it doesn't matter either way ... like you don't have to worry about being found out.”

Stiles remained silent for a moment and then said, “Of course I worry ... I'm not stupid. I know there are a hell of lot more hunters out there than just Gerard Argent.  Thing is ... my worry isn't for me.  It's for the people around me in each life.  I mean, no matter how I die here, I'm coming back.  But those around me ... if I'm outed and then die, it leaves them vulnerable to the backlash.  It doesn't keep me from living that particular life to the fullest, though.”

“How many – I mean, if you don't want to tell me --”

“I was born in 1600 when _Huaynaputina_ erupted.”

Derek gaped. “Sixteen _hundred_?"  He did the mental math.  "So ... four lives if you figure 100 years each time?”

Stiles' grin was just visible in the dying light. “Oh I see – wolfy knows his firebird legends.”

Derek was grateful for the dark to hide his probably crimson ears. “Yeah ... my uncle Peter ... he's always been the keeper of our pack records. His bestiary probably rivals the one I know Gerard had – everything from angels to zombies.”

“Peter ... he was the one that killed Kate, right?”

Derek looked up. “You know him?”

“I told you, Derek ... I've known your pack all my life here,” Stiles rubbed the back of his neck. “I've kinda – kinda had a crush on you since I was 8.”

“Eight? When – wait, the sheriff ... your mom was in the hospital,” Derek realized, a memory coming to him. “My sister Cora ... she broke both her legs in three places jumping out of one of the trees in Preserve on a dare from my _other_ sister, Laura.  We brought her in to get them set so they'd heal right since she was so young.”

Stiles nodded. “Yeah. And I was in the waiting room ... my mom had had an episode and – she didn't know who I was – you sat down with me because I was crying. You told me you thought she was still in there, in her brain but that it wouldn't let her come out.”

Derek winced. “Yeah ... I made it worse, didn't I?”

“Are you _kidding_?” Stiles exclaimed. “You were awesome, wolfy! Everyone kept telling me my mom was gone ... that the woman I'd loved all my life was never coming back to me.  You said she was still in there somewhere.”

“God, Stiles – I told an eight-year-old kid his mom was trapped in her own head! How did you not hate me for that?”

Stiles reached over and laid a warm hand on Derek’s arm. “Dude ... I thought my mom _hated_ me.  All the things she said every time she came after me ... I believed them.  She knew what I was – both my parents did by then. She said stuff – I thought she saw me as a monster. An abomination.”  Stiles turned away and leaned his elbows on the Jeep’s hood. He looked at his hand and made it glow orange with his internal heat.  He turned it, flexing his fingers as he did so.  “You told me to be brave, Derek. You said that she was in there, probably wanting nothing more than to have one moment free where she could tell me and dad that she loved us both.  You said it probably broke her heart watching herself say all those hateful things to me and not being able to stop.”

Derek closed his eyes and sighed. “I just ... you were so scared and upset, Stiles,” Derek recalled. “You were terrified of your own mom and you didn't understand why she wanted to hurt you. I was twelve.  What the hell did I know about diseases of the brain?”

“You knew enough to try and help, Derek,” Stiles stated firmly. “And you know what? You did – I looked for her every time after that. I looked for my mom even when she was screaming at me.  And I told her I loved her even though she was saying all those mean things.  I told her every single time after that ... and one time, at the end – she said it back. And I knew you were right – she was in there, just waiting for that one moment when she could find her way out.”

Somehow, Derek found himself pressing Stiles against his Jeep. His tongue mapped and teased but it was more frantic than a few moments ago.  Heat sank into his body along the line of their torsos and legs, making Derek sweat.  It took everything he had not to shift when Stiles moved away from his lips to mouth at the ridges of his windpipe, tickling the sensitive skin with his tongue.  Derek pulled back and looked at Stiles.  The amber eyes were glowing, twin coals in the dark looking through him, burning away every doubt.

“Stiles,” Derek growled. “I want this – but it’s too soon – too –“

The phoenix framed Derek’s face. “No, wolfy. It’s not too soon … it’s not soon enough … I should have had the nerve to find you before now. Think I drove us out to Timbuktu for the hell of it?  I know what I want, Derek.  I want you.”

Derek’s eyes gleamed blue. Stiles gave a soft, desperate sound when he took two steps back until Derek let a crooked grin tug up one side of his mouth. 

“You better unlock the door, Stiles. I’m not above throwing you down on the ground right here,” the wolf warned.

Derek felt Stiles’ heat crash into him again, insistent tongue demanding entrance. He backpedaled, trusting Stiles not to trip them both until his breath was pushed out of him when they slammed into the wall beside the door.  Stiles fumbled with his keys before cursing and grabbing the simple Master lock in one hand.  It glowed red-hot before he jerked it down and the metal let go, stretching like taffy before it broke.  Derek snorted but his wolf was surfacing and it was becoming harder to focus on anything except exposing as much of the pale skin as he could.  He wasn’t sure when they ended up on a dusty sofa in front of a stone fireplace, he only noticed when the wood there burst into flame. Stiles grinned down at Derek from his position straddling the wolf’s lap, wiggling his fingers in the air.

“Magic digits come in handy from time to time,” the phoenix boasted.

Derek growled and began to work at Stiles’ belt. “Let’s see what _my_ digits can do.”

It was surreal to be moving counter to Stiles' rhythm as they gasped and groaned into one another's mouths. Shirts came off in short order, followed by shoes being toed off to thump on the floor.  Jeans went sliding down legs to pool at the other end of the couch.  Derek felt like his body was operating separate from his brain.  After all, his family had nearly been slaughtered the night before and now ... now he was running his hands along the muscled back of a fae creature the likes of which he'd barely believed existed.  He hissed when the too-hot mouth closed over his nipple and sucked it between teeth.  Derek's hips thrust up sharply, nearly unseating Stiles.

“Ea-easy, wolfy ... I don't heal fast like you ... dump me on my head and I get concussions like anyone else,” Stiles breathed against Derek's throat.

“Good to know,” Derek returned on the wave of a moan. “Wouldn't want to break you first time out.”

Stiles forehead dipped into an adorably confused 'V' that disappeared when Derek hooked his thumbs into Stiles' boxer brief's waistband and pulled them down to release his cock. It took him only a moment longer to let his own member out and then they were clasped together, precum and a quick lick down his palm lubricating the way.  Stiles threw his head back and Derek drank in the long line of his body, one hand sliding up and over the phoenix’s throat. They rocked together, hands clasped over their cocks, straining toward release.

Stiles looked down at Derek and the sight tipped him over the edge. The werewolf had shifted just enough to allow his sharp teeth to drop and his eyes to gleam electric blue.  Stiles fell willingly into the glow, surprised when he trilled – a sound less human than avian. He let the pleasure wash over him as his climax spilled out over his hand and Derek’s.

Derek snarled when he opened his eyes and saw Stiles looking down at him, the whiskey-gold eyes blazing with desire and desperate need. He felt the phoenix’s body jolt and then hot spend was hitting his hand and cock. The wet heat made Derek’s eyes roll back as sensation overwhelmed him. He released a growling roar that sounded something like ‘Stiles’ but he was too lost in oblivion to care.

For several moments the cabin’s only sounds were a crackling fire and twin breaths panting soft sighs as sweat-slick bodies trembled through aftershocks.

“While I’m all about lying here until the sun comes up, I think we need to try and wash up before we end up glued together,” Stiles mumbled against Derek’s neck.

Derek laughed softly. “That’s really gross, Stiles.”

“I’ll be romantic when we have a shower handy. Right now … pump out back is it. And I assure you – that water is going to be fucking cold.”

Derek groaned. “Great … so much for round two.”

Stiles rose up and kissed Derek. It was slow and sweet and perfect as far as the werewolf was concerned.  At least until they used the artic-temperature well water to wash themselves off.  With his balls withdrawn somewhere up around his tonsils, Derek settled back on the sofa beside Stiles, jeans pulled back on commando.  A convenient sleeping bag made for a clean place to sit at least.  The cooler in Stiles’ Jeep apparently also held beer and large bag of M&Ms. Derek laughed when the phoenix opened his treasure trove to which Stiles looked affronted.

“Hey, it’s prudent to have an emergency food supply in case you get stranded!”

“Water, beer and M&Ms?”

“Just for that, I’m eating all the blue ones,” Stiles grumbled. “They match your eyes.”

Derek chuckled. He picked a few M&Ms out of the bag, carefully returning the blue ones.  Stiles handed Derek another beer while he opened his own.  He blew a kiss toward the fire which flared.  Derek snorted.  “Show off.”

“All part of the renaissance that is me,” Stiles said with a grin.

They looked at the fire for a while in comfortable silence. Derek felt calmer than he’d been in years – his wolf was quiet. He couldn’t remember it being so easy to be around someone since Paige.

The phoenix bumped his shoulder. “Don’t go looking for some way to ruin this, wolfy, ok? I mean … it was good, yeah?”

“Really good,” Derek agreed, sipping his beer. “Why do you think I’m trying to ruin it?”

Stiles looked over at the man sitting beside him. “Seriously? You mean – you’re happy?”

“Let’s not get carried away,” Derek warned with a grin. He looked at the fire before saying quietly,  “I’m … content.”

“ _Content_ … be still my heart,” Stiles teased.

Derek smiled. “You’re not the only renaissance man, fireball.”  They drank in silence for a  few more minutes.

“You know I don’t care if you ask, right?”

Derek chuckled. “Mind reading part of the phoenix super-powers?”

Stiles snorted. “Hardly, but I’ve lived enough lives to read people. And you, my furry friend, are curious.  So ask.  Or you can read your uncle’s book, but I assure you, I’m more interesting. And sexy.”

Derek smiled before putting his beer down and pushing Stiles back to the cushions. “Yes. Yes, you are, Stiles.”  He kissed the other man for a moment before they rearranged themselves with Derek behind Stiles, their legs comfortably entwined.  “So … is the book right? Do you live a hundred years each lifetime?”

“Give or take.”

“Give or take?”

Stiles hesitated. Derek’s eyes narrowed and his senses came online, cataloging everything the phoenix did until Stiles sighed and turned over on his back.

“In my human form, I can get injured and die like anyone else, Derek … if I walk in front of a truck, _splat!_ No more Stiles.”

Derek frowned and shook his head. “Your heartbeat blipped, Stiles … you lied just now.”

Stiles groaned and threw his arm over his eyes. “I didn’t _exactly_ lie, wolfy.  I just sort of … didn’t tell you everything.”

Derek swallowed the rock forming in his throat as he pushed himself up. “It’s ok, Stiles. I shouldn’t have asked. You don’t --”

Stiles sat upright so quickly only Derek’s reflexes saved them both from a massive headache and Stiles from the concussion he’d mentioned earlier. “No! I mean … damn it … I just didn’t want to freak you out.”

Derek’s eyebrow arched. “I’m a seventh generation werewolf, Stiles. My uncle keeps a bestiary of supernatural creatures and you’re a phoenix that I’ve had sex with … what exactly do you think will ‘freak me out’?”

Stiles sighed. “It’s true that we’re given a hundred years for each lifetime. Since we’re more or less mortal outside the firebird form, we can die from accidents or intentional harm. The other thing that can shorten our lives is taking the life of someone not due to die yet.”

Derek frowned. “Someone not due to die?”  He blinked.  “Gerard?”

Stiles nodded. “I sort of get a deduction from my years based on how many years I robbed.”

“Gerard was a _killer_ of innocents!  That’s not fair!” Derek exclaimed.

Stiles looked up at the werewolf with a sad smile. “Them’s the rules, wolfy. If you’re born outside the mundane world’s rules, you pay the price for it. Me, I take a life that wasn’t meant to end just yet and I lose the years from my lifespan. You take an innocent life and you get those baby blues of yours.”

“So … how many … how long --?”

Stiles considered the ceiling. “Thirty-three. Go figure, that fucker was supposed to be around for a _long_ time.”

Derek swallowed hard. “How – how much does that leave you?”

Stiles looked at the werewolf closely. “Derek, you don’t need –“

“I want to know, damn it!” Derek exclaimed. “I mean … Stiles … you – please. I need to know.”

“If nothing else happens, I’ve got 48 years left. I’m 19 now,” Stiles said. “Derek, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

Derek leaned over and brushed his lips against Stiles’. “No. Thank you for telling me.  No wonder you don’t worry about things.”

Stiles smiled sadly. He brushed his knuckles against Derek’s jaw. “I never said I didn’t worry, wolfy … I’m just a little _too_ aware of just how short even a hundred years can be – even if you don’t end up dying along the way. Tends to make me impatient to get on with things.” 

Derek let his eyes shift into their blue aspect and grinned toothily. He growled, “Then by all means … let’s get on with things.”


	5. A Declaration

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes: I haven't watched the latest season of TW (don't hurt me). So my characterization of Jordan Parrish is of my own imagination, not canon. And yes ... I'm evil for leaving it there for the moment.

Derek awoke to a surprised squawk. For a moment, he blinked while brain and body reunited, struggling to figure out where the sound had originated – judging from how dry his throat was it hadn’t come from him.  A low, grumbling moan floated into his awareness, prompting Derek to peer over the edge of the couch.  Pale, delicious skin dotted with a chain of dark marks met his sight on the floor below.  The werewolf traced the line to the hollow of a slender throat, memory blossoming with phantom taste and smell for each one.  Scattered around the prone figure were bright dots of color – M&Ms dislodged when the couch’s other occupant went tumbling to the boards.

“You suck, Wolfy,” Stiles muttered, amber gaze hidden behind his arm.

A deep itch flickered through Derek’s gums. His tongue found fangs emerging so he slid off the cushion to blanket the sprawled form. Nudging Stiles’ forearm, Derek stared down into whiskey-gold eyes.  He felt his body shifting again into his beta form, claws scoring the wood on either side of Stiles.  Gleaming gold receded to a barely visible line bordering a black well as arousal burned through Stiles leaving him panting under Derek.  He moaned softly, pushing his hips up into Derek’s.  A bass growl rumbled through Derek, vibrating against the phoenix’s slender neck.  The faintest scent of burned matches tickled the werewolf’s nose.  He shuddered.

“Stiles … God, you smell so _good_.”

Stiles ran his hand along the elongated jawline. “Distracting me with sex … smart wolf.”

Derek shifted back into his human form with a laugh. He pushed up and slid back onto the couch, pulling Stiles along with him.  When they were settled with Stiles between Derek and the back of the sofa, the wolf nuzzled the long neck that fascinated him. 

 “In my defense, I’m used to a bigger bed.  And sleeping alone.”

“Oh you can’t do that,” Stiles complained, hooking a leg over Derek’s hip. “Not playing fair using the lonely wolf thing against my righteous anger … but I forgive you.  Be forewarned, Wolfy … I might be a bit of a snuggler.”

Derek chuckled. “I’ll keep that in mind.”  He kissed the phoenix and pulled back, his mouth dry again.  “Never been with anyone who ran hotter than I do … body temp-wise.”

“I get that a lot,” Stiles murmured, tucking himself against Derek’s chest. “Are you … are you ok with this, Derek?”

The eyes that looked at him now were bright amber and filled with uncertainty. Derek examined his feelings, something he tried to _never_ do as a rule.  A dark voice that sounded suspiciously like Kate sing-songed in the back of his mind telling him he should not be smiling right now.  He shouldn’t be _happy_ of all things.  He shouldn’t want this with every fiber in his being.  Derek ignored it.

“I’m more than ok with it, Stiles. I want this.  I want you,” the wolf replied, feeling his fangs dropping again.  He was really going to have to work on his control if he didn’t want Peter teasing him mercilessly. 

The joy that blazed through Stiles was almost palpable and Derek had never been so content in his life. He moved to kiss the phoenix when he felt something slippery and … sharp? … on his thigh.  A hand came up coated in melted chocolate and tiny bits of candy shell.

“Um … oops?”

Later, Derek was sure the shrieks from Stiles when he was washed off with ice cold water from the pump startled most of the wildlife in the area.

* * *

Driving back into Beacon Hills, Stiles sighed softly. “I have to tell my dad … not too sure how he’s going to take this.”

Derek glanced over at the phoenix. “I’m not going to be your dirty little secret, Stiles.”

“Wait, what?” Stiles said, startled. “Dude, I would _never_ do that to you –“

“It was a secret relationship that nearly got my entire pack killed, Stiles. I lost two cousins – two _human_ cousins – because of it.  I’m never going to be able to look their parents in the eye again.  God … and here I am fucking my brains out –“ Derek pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes.

“You done?”

The flat tone in Stiles’ voice made Derek look up. He blinked at the tightly clenched jaw as the young man turned them down a side street, pulled over and parked.  Derek waited with a deep unease settling in his chest.

“Stiles –“

The phoenix held up a hand, silencing Derek. He turned blazing gold eyes on the werewolf.  “I told you before, I know exactly how short life can be, Derek.  I’ve already lost time off this reincarnation but I’d do the same thing again, given the chance.  What I won’t do is spend what time I have left dealing with your emotional rollercoaster.”  Stiles ran a hand over his face.  “What happened wasn’t your fault – _you_ didn’t start that fire.  But if you’re going to blame yourself and feel guilty every time you’re with me – this ends now.”

Derek felt his wolf begin to pace anxiously. He felt the pull of _mate_ from the phoenix and nevermind that they weren’t even the same supernatural species.  He looked at Stiles and felt his eyes flash in response to Stiles’ emotions.  He surged across to Stiles’ seat and kissed the phoenix.  Stiles was stiff under his hands and Derek drew back with a heavy sigh. 

“It’s going to take me a while to get over what happened and even if I didn’t light the fire, I had a role in making my pack vulnerable to hunters. I can’t put that on anyone else – I was stupid and blinded by my own arrogance.  My family tried to warn me about Kate but I didn’t listen … I was like a stupid kid throwing a tantrum to get his own way,” Derek breathed softly.  He looked into the light eyes that had resumed their human appearance.  “All I can do is promise to try – guilt’s kind of a second skin to me.  I just know I want whatever time I have with you.  I don’t want to waste it either.”

Stiles nodded, his expression softening. “I know about guilt, Derek.  Gerard isn’t the first life I’ve taken and he probably won’t be the last.”  He brushed his hand against the werewolf’s face.  “I would kill him again to keep him from hurting you and yours, Wolfy.  No great loss to me other than those years.”

Derek frowned, watching Stiles’ body language and listening to his heartbeat. “You don’t – you don’t think I’m a monster?  A-about Kate?”

Stiles chuckled and kissed Derek briefly, a simple reassuring touch. “Dude … _again_ … I’ve lived a lotta lives.  Not like you’re the first person, human or otherwise, to fall in love with the wrong girl.  She _used_ you, Derek.  Yeah, you were thinkin’ with your little head and getting all mule-headed about your family trying to warn you off – but in the end that fire _was not your fault._ Hunters choose their lives – they choose to hunt down other living beings.  Now, I know some that only hunt those of our kind that step out of line – that deliberately take innocent lives.  Kate and Gerard were definitely _not_ in that category.”  Stiles sighed.  “You think Peter’s losing sleep over tearing her throat out?  I sure as hell won’t lose any over Gerard.”

Derek shook his head wishing it would clear the one thought that kept racing around his mind. “My cousins … they paid for what I did.”

“Yeah and I can’t predict how their families will react to knowing what you did – you just have to own up to it and take the fall-out as it comes. It won’t be easy, I never said that.”

Derek stared in wonder at the phoenix who spoke so calmly and assuredly about the events of the recent night. He leaned in and kissed Stiles again, this time with a tender brush of lips.  The other man’s mouth opened and their tongues slid warmly against each other until Derek had to pull back.  He wiped his mouth with a faint huff.

“Never going to get used to that,” he murmured. “How are you so sure about everything?”

“Not everything, Wolfy,” Stiles corrected. “I’ve just got a different perspective on things.  I’ve seen a major conflict on every continent, Derek.  I’ve died in a few of them and I never understood how people treated this life so … so _casually._ I get to start over but regular mortals don’t.  Life is precious, Wolfy.  I want to spend this one with you.”

Derek inhaled sharply at that and for a moment, uncertainty clouded Stiles’ eyes. Derek’s eyes, however, were glowing and then he ducked his head almost shyly. 

“You do?”

“Are you serious right now, Derek? _Yes_ , I want to be with you,” Stiles said, exasperated.  “All the way to the end, ok?”

Derek’s grin was toothy and Stiles chuckled. He thumbed over the wolf’s lower lip and when Derek opened to him, he ran the pad of his finger over the tip of one fang.  “That is so hot.”

Laughter bubbled out of the werewolf and Derek shifted back to human before kissing Stiles again. They lost themselves for a moment before a sharp rap echoed on the glass of Stiles’ window.  He turned and rolled down the window with a growing blush remembering only then that the passenger window was absent and they’d probably just put on a show for the neighborhood.  Deputy Jordan Parrish stood by the vehicle, his eyebrow cocked and a smirk pulling at his mouth.  He cleared his throat, trying to keep a straight face.

“Good afternoon, sir. Driver’s license and registration, please.”

Stiles frowned and stuck his tongue out at the officer. “Really, Jordan?”

The deputy laughed. “Sorry, Stiles, couldn’t help it.  But I do have to ask you to move along – you’re freaking out the good citizens with your little make-out session.”

“ _ohmygod”_ came the pained mutter from the passenger side.

Stiles rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah … they should get Showtime or something.”  At Jordan’s pursed lips he sighed.  “I’m going, I’m going … hey, do you have to tell Dad?”

Jordan chuckled. “Nah, you’re in enough trouble as it is, buddy.”

Stiles blinked. “What?  Why?”

Jordan tilted his head to the side looking at Derek who regarded him uneasily. “Well, I guess I can see – and smell – _why_ you disappeared for the night and didn’t bother to call but you know your dad … that’s kinda high on his list of “Reasons to Ground Stiles”.”

Stiles thumped his skull backward onto the headrest. “Crap, crap, crap … I totally forgot to text him.”

Jordan nodded sympathetically, but the gleam in his eye and the twitch at the corner of his lips gave him away and Stiles groaned in frustration. “You jerk, you’re enjoying this!”

Jordan nodded and closed his notebook while laughing. “Yes, yes I am.”

“Dude, that’s totally against the bro code,” Stiles said.

Jordan looked up and his eyes gleamed bright orange, startling Derek. “Yeah but so is lying to me about why you were hanging out at the high school after hours one night and then ending up nearly drowning in the _pool_ because you decided you could take on a _kanima_ by yourself.  Your dad nearly fired me for that one … no, actually, he nearly _shot_ me for that one.”

Stiles grinned sheepishly. When he looked at Derek, the werewolf was regarding him with a good deal more disbelief than he was comfortable with.

“What? I was 16!”

Derek made a non-committal noise. “Right.  This from the guy that just lectured me on not taking my life for granted?”

Stiles glared at Jordan when he let out a sharp bark of laughter. The officer reached across and handed Derek a business card.  “Keep my card – you know, for when Stiles is being … Stiles.”

The deputy laughed all the way back to his cruiser and Stiles drove off with a disgusted huff. He chewed irritably on his lower lip.  “I’m not _that_ bad.  I was young.  And one of my friends had become a _kanima_.  I had to help him out.”

“Jackson Whittemore,” Derek offered.

Stiles looked sideways at the werewolf. “Yeah, that’s right, how did – wait, I remember now, he was in your pack wasn’t he?“

Derek sighed and nodded. “Back when I appreciated my pack.”  The wolf blew out a frustrated breath.  “Scott McCall was the kid Jackson paralyzed, wasn’t he?”

“Yeah … he’s my best friend but Jackson was my friend too. We just wanted to help – I hadn’t ever encountered a _kanima_ before – didn’t know about the paralyzing venom thing,” Stiles explained.  “I guess it doesn’t work on me.  Something about my high body temp burning it off before it can do any damage.  Scott went down like a rag doll, though.  When he ended up in the pool, I couldn’t just let him drown.”

Derek toyed with a thread on his jeans. “They said … the papers said you drained the pool to save Scott’s life?”

Stiles shrugged. “I didn’t really drain the pool.  I evaporated the water.  My dad suggested the draining thing and no one really questioned it.  Have you noticed people around here don’t ask too many questions about some of the shit that goes down?”  Stiles looked momentarily confused but then he continued.  “Anyway, the _kanima_ – Jackson – took off when I shifted.  Scott recovered, as you know.  We never heard what happened to Jackson after that night.  Dad said he moved to London with his folks.”

“He did,” Derek confirmed. “The pack moved his family there to let him learn to be a werewolf with a sister pack – it’s a little easier overseas.  The legends there are ingrained in their culture – over here it’s whatever Hollywood made up,” Derek explained.  He rubbed the back of his neck.  “Jackson was one of my betas.  It’s a long story.  He rejected the bite but became a _kanima_ instead.  Peter and I … sort of killed him.”

“Wait, what?” Stiles barked.  “You _killed_ Jackson?!?”

Derek sighed.  “We had to – it’s the only way to free someone from being a _kanima_.  But he didn’t die – once we banished the _kanima_ , he came back … as a werewolf.”

“That’s how you got the blue eyes,” Stiles reasoned.

Derek coughed uncomfortably. “No … that’s another long story.  But, just so you know, Jackson is fine and happy in London.  He’s thriving, actually.  Has a mate and everything.”

“Lydia Martin?” Stiles asked. “She was his girlfriend in school although I thought she ended up dating someone else at Stanford.”

Derek chuckled. “No.  He met someone over there named Liam.  The London pack said he was an omega they adopted – kid lost his parents young.  Anyway, they hit it off and the rest just sort of happened.”

“Like we just sort of happened?” Stiles asked softly.

Derek nodded. He reached over and took Stiles’ hand on top of the shifter.  “And I’m glad we ‘happened’, Stiles.  I really am.  I might – obviously you can tell there’s still a lot about me you don’t know and I don’t have your experience to help mitigate my reactions to things.  But I’m in this too … all the way to the end.”

“Awesome,” Stiles grinned. “And Wolfy?  You are still paying for that window.”

* * *

Sheriff John Stilinski groaned and pressed the heels of his hands to each eye. “Kid, you realize that you take years off _my_ life whenever you do stuff like this, right?”

Stiles released a very uncharacteristic chirp which made John look up. His son was hunched in the guest chair across the desk. 

“Stiles?”

“I – I really think I might – Dad, he’s not like anyone I’ve ever met –“ Stiles stammered.

John’s eyes widened as what Stiles was saying sank in and he began to shake his head. “No … no … you just lost years!  Stiles!”

A pained voice escaped the phoenix. “I know, I know … Dad, I’m _sorry_.”

The sheriff moved around his desk to crouch in front of the miserable young man. He gripped Stiles’ hands tightly in his own.  “Hey … hey, kiddo … don’t … oh hell, don’t listen to me.  I loved your mother with everything I had and if you find that in this lifetime or any other, you should go for it.  I just – I’m not ready, Stiles.  I’m not ready at all.”

His son looked at him with the whiskey-gold gaze that was at once youthful and ancient. He brushed the unruly brown hair back and pressed a kiss to Stiles’ forehead.

“I’m sorry – I always end up hurting someone, no matter what life I end up with,” Stiles muttered.

“Think I knew we were in for a bumpy ride the day you were born, kid. Babies generally don’t _screech_ straight out of the womb – never mind the eyes,” the sheriff said with a chuckle.  “Is it always like that?  I’ve never asked you.”

Stiles shook his head. “No.  It’s different every lifetime.  You’re only the fourth parent I’ve ever had that knew what I am.”

John slid into the other chair. “I am?  Why us?  Why did we get to know?”

Stiles waved his hand toward a pile of file folders resting on top of two file cabinets. “Because this is Beacon Hills, Dad.  Your deputy is a hellhound for crying out loud.  You and every sheriff that’s come before you has dealt with things they can’t explain.”  The phoenix shrugged.  “I’m glad that Lydia’s grandmother was around to explain to you and Mom what I was … it’s easier when my parents know.”

John groaned. “Easier, he says.”

“It totally is! It sucks because I don’t remember everything until I hit puberty … I just know I’m different.  And I dream about all these lives from before.”

The sheriff frowned. “You never told me this.”

Stiles shifted uncomfortably. “You … you had mom to deal with.”

“You didn’t completely understand why your mother called you an abomination, did you?” John asked quietly.

Stiles shook his head. “She – said those things and I knew something was wrong with me … that I was having all these dreams and stuff but I didn’t _know_.  And I know you tried to explain it to me but I was only 8 and I didn’t get it.”  Stiles looked up with a faint smile.  “But it’s still better when my parents know … trust me.”

John pulled Stiles to him in a tight hug. The phoenix relaxed into the embrace happily.  It was all part and parcel of his life – the growing up mostly unaware until he was of age and his memories returned to him.  Sometimes it was easy … he didn’t have dreams about it and then, when puberty hit he understood everything.  Sometimes it was miserable and hard … he knew he was different, his abilities tried to surface and his parents were terrified of him.  Those lifetimes he preferred not to remember – and at least one of them had ended far too quickly because fear had driven those around him to end his life.

But John and Claudia Stilinski had been warned by a banshee of what their child was – and it hadn’t made any difference. He was their son, their baby and they loved him.  The disease that had stolen Claudia’s mind had warped her perception of Stiles but as he’d told Derek, at the end, she knew her son.  And she loved him.

The sheriff pulled back and regarded Stiles with a sad expression. “Have you told Derek about everything?”

Stiles ducked his head. “I will.”

“Sooner, rather than later, Stiles. He deserves to know.  Does he know about Gerard?”

A nod. “Yes, he knows I lose years for wrongful deaths.”

“I don’t know how anyone could consider that man’s death ‘wrongful’ but I guess that’s why I’m not in control of the universe.”

“Good thing too or it would be filled with bacon trees,” Stiles teased.

“Better than soy bacon … honestly, Stiles, just let me die with clogged arteries like a normal man,” the sheriff retorted.

“Not on your life,” Stiles said, his eyes bright. “Or mine.  I’m keeping you around for as long as I can, Dad.”  He looked down at his hands which glowed slightly before the light faded.  “It’s a curse that I remember every life but a blessing too because I’ll never forget you.  I never forget the people I love.”

“Geez, kid, you’re gonna kill me anyway,” John croaked as he jerked the phoenix back into his arms. He kissed a temple before shoving away with a hair tousle.  “Go tell Derek about the rest of it – are you certain?”

Stiles stood and jammed his hands into his jeans pockets. “Yeah.  I knew it the minute I told him I wanted to be with him right to the end.  My heart’s not all mine anymore.”

John nodded thoughtfully. “Go home and get some rest before you talk to him, Stiles.  And take a shower.  I’m not a werewolf but from the way the fae members of my staff wrinkled their noses when you came in, I’m guessing you and Derek …”

“Not having this conversation with you, Dad,” Stiles stated, his blush climbing into his hairline. He waved at Jordan as he walked out of the station.

The hellhound walked into the sheriff’s office after Stiles was gone. He leaned against the doorjamb.

“Sorry to eavesdrop but … did he say he’s in love with Derek Hale?”

John nodded. “I take it you know what that means?”

Jordan ran a hand through his hair. “He’s just halved his life expectancy … on top of what Argent’s death cost him?”

“Bingo.”

Parrish shook his head. “That doesn’t seem fair … even if he’s essentially immortal.”

Stilinski cocked his head at Jordan. “Says the hellhound?”

The deputy shrugged one shoulder. “It’s not easy dealing with damned souls, I’ll give you that but people make deals with demons all the time.  I just enforce the contract at the end.  Or play guard dog if necessary.”  He moved into the room to sit.  “What I am … it isn’t exactly conducive to a healthy relationship but I can love and be loved in this lifetime without penalty.  I guess the Powers-That-Be feel Stiles gets multiple chances at love whereas the rest of us get only one.”

John sighed and picked up a framed photo from his desk. It was the last picture of his family before Claudia’s illness manifested.  Stiles had been six.  His golden eyes had flared in the flash a little like most supernatural individuals but it was still John’s favorite picture.  A time when they were all happy.

“He told me it keeps him aware of how precious love is by forcing him to sacrifice for it. Otherwise, centuries of starting over might leave him jaded or tempted to take love for granted,” John told his deputy.  “I don’t know about other phoenixes but my boy … I doubt he’d ever take anything like love for granted in any lifetime.”

Jordan nodded. “I think you’re right, boss.  I think you’re right.”

* * *

The next morning, Stiles pulled up beside the burned out husk of the Hale home. He’d texted his wolf and learned that some of the pack would be at the property.  Derek was standing at the edge of the basement, wearing a t-shirt and jeans covered in soot.  Something sailed up from below and he caught it with gloved hands before placing it in a box nearby.  Derek waved at Stiles before shouting down into the hole.

“Peter, come up – Stiles is here!”

Stiles walked over with no little apprehension as Derek’s uncle leapt onto the edge of the foundation. He, too, was covered in soot.  Stiles could see what he assumed were other members of the Hale clan carefully picking their way through the charred rubble.  Peter pulled off his glove and stuck out his hand.

“I suppose we owe you a debt of gratitude, young firebird,” the elder werewolf said with a slight smile.

Stiles shook the hand but ducked his head at the comment. “No need … I’m just glad I was out for a flyover.”

“Yes … well, Derek has many good things to say about you. Not all of them verbal, you understand,” Peter stated, his eyes flashing slightly.

“Peter!” Derek growled, blushing.

Stiles grinned. “And you’re the uncle with the bestiary?”

Peter gave a short nod. “I am – I keep the records for our pack.  This, in fact, is what Derek is trying to assist me with – rescuing what we can from what’s left of our home.”

“Hey, I can help with that – I can clear off the burned parts to help you figure out what everything is. Just let me get my –“

Peter suddenly jerked, falling backwards into the pit. The sound of a gunshot echoed through the woods a moment later and Derek found himself pushed behind Stiles.  The phoenix was still in his human form but he was surrounded by the nimbus.  Derek watched in shock as the aura began to expand, taking on the outline of a very large bird.

“Leave them alone!” Stiles screeched.

The hunter raised his rifle and Derek shouted, “No!” He would have thrown himself in front of Stiles but clawed hands dug into his shoulders and biceps, pulling him back.  He roared, fighting to break free.

“You killed my _brother_ , firebird!  You’re no better than those dogs – animals to be put down!”

Stiles didn’t move. His aura flared making the hunter throw up an arm against the heat.  His eyes were glowing brightly and flames licked along his hair which was blowing around his face.  He took a step back, trying to gauge the man’s intent when a dark furred wolf sprang out of nowhere.  At first Stiles was convinced it was Derek but then the wolf shifted to human, hands closing over the rifle and trying to tear it from the hunter’s grip.  Stiles didn’t recognize the youth but by then he was operating on instinct.  Someone was threatening his pack – his mate.  He heard screaming and startled, thinking he was making the sound -- it took him a moment to realize the young wolf was screaming even as tears streamed down his face.

“He killed _my_ brother! _He_ was the animal – _he was the animal!_ ”

Stiles’ flames faded as he rushed forward. He could hear Derek yelling behind him along with the other members of the pack.  Stiles knew if he could get close enough he could turn the rifle into molten goo.  Unfortunately, the hunter was too skilled and before Stiles reached them, a high-pitched yelp broke free from the young man grappling for the weapon.  Stiles skidded to a halt as the boy fell aside, his shirt turning dark red from a wound on his torso.  The hunter stood with a bloody blade in one hand and the rifle in the other.  Behind him, Stiles heard pounding feet and people screaming.  A low reverberating growl shivered through the air.  Stiles whined because he knew before desperate voices filled the air that the man he loved was running toward him.  Stiles looked at the hunter – there was no pretense in his cold eyes.

“No! Derek, stop! Derek no!”

The hunter tossed the knife to the side as Stiles’ tennis shoe clad feet dug in and he ran forward. In a smooth motion, the man brought up his rifle, braced it against one shoulder and aimed just over Stiles’ shoulder.  Stiles heard Derek’s heart stutter and in that instant, the phoenix made his choice.

“All the way to the end, wolfy.”


	6. A Reckoning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's short but I wanted to move this work forward before it lost momentum altogether. Warnings: More folks being shot and toasted.

"No!"

"Derek, stop!"

"He'll kill you cub!"

Voices assaulted Derek from every side.  Claws tore long furrows in Derek's upper arms and shoulders when he fought his way free of his pack mates' restraint.  The enraged werewolf barely registered the pain before his body began to heal.  What remained of Derek's rational mind supplied the name of the attacker:  Alexander Argent.  Gerard's older brother was well-known among supernatural communities; his bloodthirsty ruthlessness was even greater than that of his deceased sibling.  His hair was long and graying; pulled back into a tight queue.  The nearly white beard that covered his face was sharply trimmed and it occurred to Derek that Alexander's brutality was enhanced by the fact that he was coldly precise about everything he did whereas Gerard had tended to be more emotional.  At the moment of Derek's realization, Alexander tossed aside the blade and swing his rifle around to bear on what was suddenly nightmarishly obvious as the real target - the survivors of the Hale Pack. 

His heart in agony, Derek used every bit of his inhuman reflexes and agility to wrench himself away from Stiles and toward the teen writhing on the ground at Alexander's feet.  As he did so, Derek released a howl that every member of every Pack in the world knew for it meant the same thing -- _RUN!_   Beacon Hills had echoed with it the night of the fire and the Preserve reverberated with it again as Pack members picked up the call and sent it winging on the winds. 

Bullets split the air where Derek had been only a breath before -- the sounds of his pack mates scrambling for cover as shots tore along the ground echoed in Derek's hearing.  He curled his body around his cousin's and rolled them away from the Hunter.  Continuing to hold and fire the rifle one-handed, Alexander suddenly reached behind himself and pulled a hand gun from his belt.  Derek snarled and dug his claws into the boy's limp body and dragged him close as he heard the rounds zipping through the air over the blast of the rifle.  Fireworks burst along his nerve endings.  The graze wasn't deep but his leg was ablaze with the taint of wolfsbane.  He gave an agonized groan and dug his free hand into the ground.  Derek's shifted body launched them forward into a run that had the pair half-way into the Preserve in seconds.  Even knowing what he did about his beloved phoenix, Derek knew what needed to be done. 

“Do it,” the wolf hissed under his breath, knowing Stiles would hear him.

Growing up in a family so rigidly dedicated to the Code which declared anything not entirely human to be an anathema to be eradicated, Alexander Argent had never even considered any fae creature as a living being with as much right to life as himself.  The Code was all and Stiles knew from long experience that there could never be negotiation or mercy with a man such as this.  As his younger brother had been, Alexander Argent was prepared to die in service to the Oath he sworn as a boy standing over his first kill.

Stiles was more than happy to accommodate the man.

His nimbus protected him from the wildly firing man and with a sudden, ear-piercing shriek, Stiles shifted into his true form.  Blood-red feathers sprang into existence and black talons darted out almost daintily to close around the suddenly screaming Hunter.  Closing his claws around Argent, Stiles crushed the rifle against the man before the heat melted it away.  The man's clothes caught and flared into ash as Stiles flapped his powerful wings once and took to the air.

It was foolish, going airborne in the middle of the day but Stiles was beyond fury.  His wolf was injured somewhere below and the Hale Pack was scattered with wounded and maybe dead members again in as many days.  It was not something he could have borne on a normal day but Stiles had given half of his heart to the werewolf named Derek.  He was claimed and no force could ever bring those years back to him in this lifetime.  He had finally found the one person in hundreds of life times that made his soul sing with joy.  Stiles hovered briefly and regarded the man roasting in his grip.  When he spoke, his human voice emerged from the ebony beak only inches from Alexander's blistering head.

"Never should have fucked with my family, Argent."

With that, Stiles' beak snapped over Argent's skull with a sickening crunch.  He exhaled softly, enveloping the body in flame and then released it.  The blackened husk dropped to the ravine below, still ablaze.  When it struck, the corpse burst into so much charcoal and ash.  No one would be able to identify the remains as human much less who they had once been.  Stiles faltered for a moment, dipping in the air as he felt the familiar sickening drag in his gut that meant Alexander's remaining years had been stripped from him.  He'd just reduced his time with Derek to almost nothing.  HIs dad -- Stiles shoved the concerns to the back of his thoughts and dove for the Preserve below. 

He had no more time to waste and a werewolf to marry.


	7. A Regrouping

Stiles winged his way back to the Hale house using altitude and speed to keep himself hidden.  Even if human radar picked him up, which he doubted it could, who was going to understand his silhouette?  Seeing the Preserve zip by below, Stiles suddenly dove to just above the treetops a mile or so from the main road that would lead back to the house.  He easily landed in a small break between trees and shifted back to his human form.  After he confirmed that no one had witnessed, Stiles began a ground-eating lope through the Preserve toward the Hale property.  He grinned like a lunatic, thoughts of how he would romantically propose to --

_"Shit!"_

One thing had always been a constant in Stiles' many lives regardless of gender -- his human form never had any grace.  While it had been a few lifetimes since he'd managed to live into elder adulthood, Stiles had never seen the clumsiness fade with age.  So it was no real surprise when his foot managed to find and hook a root hidden by the layers of detritus on the forest floor.  His momentum suddenly arrested, Stiles toppled into the ground with a cloud of dead undergrowth and vicious swearing.  After a moment, the phoenix rolled over, spitting dirt and debris as he frowned darkly at the tree that sprang the pernicious outgrowth.

"You realize I could turn you into charcoal where you stand, right?"

Leaves near him crunched and Stiles craned his head back to see an upside-down Derek regarding him with a bemused and slightly concerned expression.  "Threatening the landscaping?"

Stiles sighed and accepted Derek's hand to pull him up.  He ruefully brushed at his jeans and shirt.

"It never hurts to be stern -- it might be a random wood nymph playing pranks.  Or an ent."

Derek turned Stiles around and briskly wiped down his shirt.  "Ents were dreamed up by Tolkien, Stiles."

Amber eyes looked over one shoulder with a raised eyebrow and an enigmatic grin.  "You think so, huh?"

Derek opened his mouth to protest before he remembered who and _what_ he was debating with -- a mythical creature destined to die and be reborn of fire until the end of time.  He gawped for a moment.  "You're kidding --?"

Stiles bent over to shake more twigs and leaves out of his hair and shrugged.  "England used to have a hell of a lot of them but they were pretty much gone by the time he wrote the books."  Stiles paused to consider.  "They were really cool to talk to if you could get them going -- awesome stories.  He might have run across one of the last."  Stiles grinned.  "I'm not the weirdest thing out there, wolfy."

Derek tugged Stiles to him by a belt-loop.  He smiled as he brushed their lips together gently.  "I like your brand of weird."  Derek let his forehead lean on Stiles'. 

"Is everyone alright?" Stiles asked, "Peter ..."

Derek nodded.  "Peter's fine.  Pissed as hell but fine.  We found Alexander's truck after you took off -- all the extra ammo let us deal with the wolfsbane."  Derek indicated his leg.  The jeans were split where the bullet had grazed him but the skin beneath was unmarred.  He shivered when Stiles' warm fingertip traced the cut fabric.

"I should have fried him where he stood the minute I saw him," Stiles snarled. 

Derek tilted the phoenix's chin up.  "You saved my cousin's life, Stiles.  Alexander wanted you or he would have finished off James."  He pressed a kiss to his lover's forehead.  "You've done so much for my family, Stiles ... you've given up so much for them ..."

Stiles sought Derek's mouth and his tongue swept inside, hot and insistent.  When they parted, Stiles murmured.  "I love you, Derek ... your family is my family.  Not gonna let anyone hurt them."

Derek toppled them backwards into the leaves.  He shifted into his beta form and his fangs nipped into Stiles' lips.  They tangled together desperately, hands fumbling at belts and zippers.  Stiles groaned when Derek won the race and his cock bobbed free into the werewolf's hand.  His own hands were pushed away to the side.  Derek dragged his claws carefully up the length with a tenderness that made Stiles' head spin and shivers race down his spine.   Derek slid down and his rough tongue licked its way up the underside of Stiles' cock.  He covered it in saliva to lubricate his hand's efforts.  Stiles writhed beneath him and Derek felt himself grow even harder at the sight of the young man coming apart.

The phoenix struggled to regain some semblance of rational thought but his brain was drowning in all the lovely pleasure chemicals designed to reduce his eloquence to stuttered half words.

"Wha -- De-Derek what --"

"My beautiful firebird," Derek slurred against Stiles' neck.  His wolf pushed forward, crowding out his humanity.  The sharp scent of burnt matches surrounded him and it made Derek want to claim his mate.  He growled his desire and his strokes sped up.  "Want you so much ... sing for me Stiles ..."

Stiles' brain abruptly left the building at the sound of Derek's wolf.  He'd been with lovers before but all human.  His werewolf touched a part of him that wasn't human and instinct took over.  The phoenix arched his back and screeched into the rapidly cooling evening air.  His body bowed and when Stiles' eyes opened, Derek saw only the bottomless ebony of the firebird's soul.  Stiles' fingers slid to Derek's nape and it was as if he was being branded.  Derek's head fell back and he howled -- the pain came buoyed on a wave of ecstasy as he came untouched, his cock pulsing in his still zipped jeans.  Stiles seemed to realize what he'd done and jerked his hand away but Derek grabbed his wrist.  The glow beneath the skin faded and only warm fingers met his lips as he kissed Stiles' palm softly.

"S'ok ... s'ok ... heal'n ..." Derek soothed.

Stiles threw both arms around Derek and pulled him down.  The werewolf's weight was substantial but at that moment, Stiles didn't care.  He wanted to be pinned ... anchored to the ground.  He pecked kisses into Derek's beard and across his nose while his body slowly relaxed.  The euphoria gave way to a pleasant heaviness.  He sighed and chirruped drowsily when Derek nuzzled at his neck, occasionally licking the heated skin. The werewolf continued to murmur garbled endearments for a while but eventually sagged to one side, his arm thrown across Stiles' waist.  They lay in silence as the birds stilled and night fell over the Preserve.  Neither of them felt the chill but the ground was growing hard and uncomfortable.

"We really need to try for a bed next time, Stiles," Derek grumbled.  He sat up slowly and ran a hand through his hair. 

Stiles remained prone in the leaves.  "Mmm-kay."

"Stiles, we need to get back.  My uncle and the others will be looking for us before long."

"Mmm-kay."

"I think you broke him, nephew."

Derek jumped to his feet with a startled growl.  Peter leaned against a tree a few feet away.  Despite the effort at being polite, Derek knew his uncle's enhanced senses told him exactly what had taken place.  The phoenix, jerked out of his doze by Peter's voice, had jumped up too only to realize his boxers and jeans were halfway down his thighs thanks to Derek's ministrations.  He tried to pull them up and tumbled over backwards.  Derek walked over to his boyfriend but pointed a finger behind him at Peter.

"Not a word, Peter."

"Oh I promise nothing, Derek ... only to not comment at this moment because he _did_ save our Pack yet again!"  Peter called back, laughing. 

Derek sighed and waited to hear his uncle jogging away.  He could just make out the rhythmic rumble of his FJ Cruiser closer to the main road.  He crouched over Stiles who had thrown his arm across his eyes.  He wouldn't have thought the phoenix could blush but apparently they could.

"He's gone ... need help?"

Stiles flipped off the werewolf who responded with a snort. 

"I will never live this down, Derek."

"You're telling me you've never been caught with your pants down ... literally?"

Stiles removed his arm and glared at Derek.  "Cheap shot, dude."

Derek grinned.  "But an accurate one, it seems."

"Yeah, yeah ... gimmee a hand."

Derek managed to keep Stiles balanced while the phoenix tugged his clothes up.  They made their way back down to the road where Derek's Toyota waited.  Stiles frowned.

"Peter run home or something?"

"Probably," Derek replied as they climbed into the vehicle. 

"Rude."

Derek shrugged.  "You wouldn't want to ride home with us either if you could smell _exactly_ what we'd been doing."

Stiles covered his face with his hands.  "Ohmigod."  He peeked at Derek.  "He's going to tell everyone, isn't he?"

Derek shifted into gear.  "Yep."

Stiles thumped his head against the window.

* * *

Stiles decided to leave his Jeep at the Hale site and have Derek take him home.  Stiles invited Derek in once they'd parked.  He held up his hand when Derek opened his mouth to decline.

"Dad's got an overnight so it'll be just us -- obviously we can't share a bed.  I mean, I really _doubt_  Dad thinks we're celibate but we did just meet so I don't want to disabuse him of that just yet, you know?  Thing is, I really don't want to be alone tonight.  So ... keep me company on the couch?"  Stiles looked hopefully at Derek.

Derek's mouth twitched at the corners while he fought back a grin.  "Your brain doesn't ever follow a straight line, does it?"

Stiles shrugged, sliding out of the Cruiser.  "Straight lines are boring."

Derek followed Stiles into the house.  He was immediately struck by the comfortable feeling it gave him.  There were signs that perhaps the original décor had had a female eye behind it but that didn't detract from the sense of _home_ that flowed over Derek.

"Wolfy?"

Derek blinked.  He sheepishly closed the door behind him.  "Sorry ... your house ... it's just ... it smells like Pack to me."

Stiles regarded the werewolf for a moment.  "That means a lot to you, doesn't it?"

Derek nodded.  "Pack ... it's everything." He cleared his throat.  "'For the strength of the Pack is the wolf, and the strength of the wolf is the Pack.'"

"Kipling ... interesting guy," Stiles grinned.

"Wait ... you knew _Rudyard Kipling_??" Derek demanded.  "Stiles!  Wait ... first Tolkien, now Kipling?"

Stiles moved into the kitchen and began pulling out sodas and sandwich makings.  He kicked the door shut behind him and dumped his load on the counter.  "Not Tolkien ... never met him.  I just liked the books.  You want a sandwich?"

Derek shook his head and then followed his nose to a cabinet that held several neatly clipped bags of chips.  "Sure ... mustard, please."

Stiles hummed agreement and began putting together the meal.  Derek hunted up the plates and glasses for the sodas.   A comfortable silence surrounded them as they settled in the living room to eat.  The conversation flowed easily and clean-up was accomplished just as simply as the set-up.  The phoenix basked in warm contentment when Derek pulled him into the space between his legs to snuggle on the couch.  .  It was hard to believe that only a few days earlier, he'd barely known Derek or his family.  Now he wanted to spend the rest of this life with Derek and his Pack --

"How many years did you lose?"

Stiles fell still in Derek's arms.  He looked up into green eyes bright with moisture.  "Derek -- it doesn't -- I couldn't let Alexander --"

The werewolf kissed his phoenix hard before he pulled back with a shake of his head.  "No ... I didn't mean -- you didn't have a choice.  You did it for me and mine.  I just -- how much time did  he take from us?"

Stiles sighed and cupped Derek's jaw.  "Nineteen."

The verdant gaze closed briefly and when it met Stiles' again, it was full of pain.  Stiles chirped softly and Derek shakily exhaled, the tears he'd struggled with fell silently.  " _Nineteen_ ... I thought a hundred years was an eternity.  Now I don't think it's near long enough."

Stiles gently thumbed away the tears.  "I know, wolfy.  You regretting this?"

Derek tightened his arms around Stiles.  "Never.  I'm done with that ... I want you.  Whatever time we've got, I want _you_."  The smile that blossomed on the phoenix made Derek's heart thump painfully hard.  He grinned back.  "I take it that means we're on the same page?"

Stiles leapt from the couch, only barely managing to _not_ fall over the coffee table.  He dropped to one knee, his hands cupped before him with a glowing ring of fire turning slowly above his palm.  "I swear I'll get real rings but Derek Sebastian Hale will you marry me?"


	8. Another Revelation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long interlude -- I'm trying to catch up on all my WIPs.

Stiles blew out an impressed whistle as he walked into the newly rebuilt library for the Hale house.  The shelves towered along the walls and the floor was hand-laid hardwood. 

"Nice, dude," he commented to Peter, the only other occupant of the room.  "You've definitely got an eye for architecture."

"Coming from someone who has actually _witnessed_ the development of human architecture, I'll take that as a compliment," Peter replied.

Stiles didn't look over at Peter but he smiled.  The werewolf walked over to join him.  "Do you like our collection?  We lost so much in the fire, texts that haven't seen the light of day in centuries.  It was a great loss."  Peter reverently ran his hand over the book spines.  "These were in a separate vault."

The phoenix frowned for a minute and then blew out a gentle flame.  Lines appeared in luminous blue between Stiles and the shelves -- a ward against fire.  " _Sweet_!"

Peter chuckled.  "Does it pass muster?"

Stiles considered the question and then nodded.  "If my fire won't penetrate, you're good against everything except maybe Hellhound flame." He looked over at Peter.  "Of course, if you've got a Hellhound trying to burn down the house then things are _way_ past protection wards."

"But you'd be able to block the flames, wouldn't you?" Peter asked, curious now.

"Well, yeah," Stiles said, walking back to Peter's desk.  "But it would mean I'd be putting out just about as much heat if not more than he Hound.  It wouldn't be good for anyone in the near vicinity."

Peter hummed.  "I suppose I should hope you and Deputy Parrish are on good terms."

Stiles laughed.  "Yeah, me and Jordan are cool."  He perched on the desk and looked at Peter.  "How do you know what he is?  I know he doesn't tell many people."

"I know a lot of things, Stiles.  It's my job to protect the pack and I'm very good at what I do."

Stiles stopped swinging his legs.  "So inviting me here without Derek ... not a coincidence?"

Peter's grin was very wolfen.  "Not at all, little firebird."

"Ok ... do I need to guess or are you going to tell me?" Stiles asked.  

Peter moved to a large window overlooking the front courtyard.  He clasped his hands behind him and took a deep breath.

”Derek might dispute this if you mentioned it but I love my nephew a great deal, Stiles.  He’s always been the one to feel things deeply — joy, love, despair — it’s all or nothing in his heart.  He loves his Pack, his family and now you,” Peter said.

”You know I feel the same way about him, right?” Stiles questioned.

Peter sighed.  “I have no doubt that you love Derek, little firebird.  That has never been in question.”  He turned eyes burning with frost on Stiles.  “You think you’re protecting him by not telling him the truth about your lifespan.”

Stiles’ face went blank.  “There’s nothing anyone can do about it, Peter.  Why would I want to hurt him with that knowledge?”

”That’s not your decision to make, Stiles.”

Stiles leapt lightly off the desk to stalk back to the bookshelves.  “The hell it isn’t!”  He faced Peter and pressed his hand over his heart.  “I  _love_ Derek.  This ... this time isn’t like the others.   _He’s_ not like the others.” Stiles wiped angrily at his eyes.  “In all my lives, there hasn’t been anyone who made me feel like Derek.”

”Your poor lovers, eclipsed so easily,” Peter commented.

”Oh fuck you, Peter!” Stiles snapped.  “What the hell would you know about it?  How would you possibly understand?” The phoenix crossed the room angrily.  “Love doesn’t happen in every lifetime.  I  _cherished_ every one and more than that, I  _remember_ every one.  Even the one-night stands.  Don’t you dare say they didn’t mean anything — they were everything to me.”

Stiles exhaled shakily.  When he looked at Peter again, the werewolf startled.  While the man before him looked young and hale, something in his eyes brought to mind extreme age.  Peter saw the howling vortex of time swirling in Stiles’ gaze.  

“I’m so tired, Peter.  I haven’t even lived a millenia and I’m So. Fucking. Tired.” Stiles said.  “When I’m with Derek, I don’t feel all that  _time_ pressing down on me.  It's like I'm practically mortal and you just have no idea how amazing that is for me."  Stiles ran a hand through his hair.  "And the reason I feel like that is exactly because Derek feels things the way he does.  He loves me with everything he’s got and it lets me forget how little time I've got ... I don't want that tainted.”

"Derek deserves your honesty, Stiles.  He deserves to know that your time with him in this life has been shaved down to almost nothing.  Five years will pass in the blink of an eye and while we aren't practically immortal like you, werewolves _do_ live a long time.  You'll be condemning him to decades with only your memory," Peter accused.  "Are you actually prepared to do that to him?  After all your declarations of love?"

Stiles flopped down in one of the plush chairs before the fireplace, one arm thrown across his eyes.  "How the hell do you even _know_ about this?"  Stiles groaned.

"I told you, little firebird - it's my duty to my pack to know as much as I can to keep them safe.  Derek isn't the only one to feel guilt over the fire," Peter said tiredly.  "I never imagined a Hunter could find their way into our home.  But she did and we paid a terrible price for that.  It's only due to your intervention that the cost wasn't more dear."  He sat across from Stiles.  "You saved Derek from being driven insane by grief for _our_ deaths ... don't consign him to that fate anyway by not telling him the truth about _your_ death."

"His _what_?!?"

Peter winced at Derek's voice which broke toward the end.  His nephew stalked into the room to stare in disbelief at Stiles who wanted to do nothing but maybe slide to the floor and crawl out of the library.  He smiled weakly up at his fiancé. 

"H-hey, Wolfy ..."

"Derek, we --"

"Shut. Up." Derek ground out without looking at Peter.  His eyes flashed red as he glared down at the phoenix.  "What did he mean 'your _death_ _'_ Stiles?  Did you -- did you have to kill another Hunter?"

Stiles stood and reached for Derek's cheek but the werewolf bounded out of reach.  Stiles dropped his hand and clenched it into a fist beside his leg as he whispered, "Derek ... it's not -- it's not like that --"

“What is it  _like_ , Stiles?” Derek hissed.  “What aren’t you telling me?”

”Five years,” Stiles replied.  He grimaced at the disbelieving sound that Derek released.

”Five ... but you had -- what happened?"

Stiles exhaled slowly.  "I fell in love." 

Derek's frown would have been comical under different circumstances but Stiles couldn't bring himself to prolong the confusion just to avoid the pain any longer. 

"I didn't tell you about the other way a phoenix can lose years, Derek.  It didn't really even occur to me because ... well, I've never been in love like this before," Stiles explained.  "If a phoenix truly, honestly, falls in love they lose half of their remaining lifespan.  It's just another price we pay for being almost immortal."  He went on to clarify the grim math.  "I'm 19.  Gerard took 33 years from my remaining life leaving me with 48.  And when I told you I was with you till the end, Derek, I willingly gave half my heart to you -- leaving me with 24 years.  Alexander took 19 of those and now I have 5 years left.  I'm so sorry, wolfy but I wouldn't change any of it.  Not a minute."

Derek's eyes were back to their human green and Stiles saw a desolation in them he couldn't even begin to fathom.  He swallowed around a jagged rock in his throat only to feel the agony slide into his heart.  He reached out for the werewolf, but Derek was backing toward the door.  Peter began moving toward his nephew only to stop when Derek snarled at him.

"You knew ... you knew this would happen ... "

"Derek ... I couldn't _know_ it would.  Phoenix legends are just that:  legends.  Stiles is the first one we've ever encountered!" Peter protested.  "I don't want you hurt, Derek but love -- love will always come with a price.  Stiles loves you more than his own life and that isn't something you find in this life very often whether you're fae or just plain ordinary mortal."

Derek released a broken sob that morphed into a soft whine.  He looked at Stiles.  "You're going to die because of me -- because I was stupid and put my family in danger!  It's all my fault!"

"Derek," Stiles started.  "Damn it, you didn't light that fire -- you didn't fire the gun -- you've got to stop taking the entire world on your shoulders!  I've got five years and I want to spend them with you.  Don't let Gerard win -- don't let him destroy your life!  _Please_ , Derek -- I love you."

"And I love you, Stiles," Derek replied.  He groaned and tears streamed down his face.  "But five years of watching you slowly die?  I can't -- I just _can't_."

Stiles was moving the second he realized Derek was letting him go.  He turned and ran to the large picture window, crashing through it in a shower of glass.  He plummeted to the ground but with a loud shriek, the phoenix soared upward into the sky.  His powerful wings lofted him higher and higher until his form was lost in the glare of the sun.  Derek fell to his knees in the library in the resultant silence.  Peter walked over and joined his nephew.  He pulled the sobbing young man against him and waved off members of the Pack, including his sister and Derek's mother. 

Peter offered no words.  There was nothing he could say to soothe the shattered heart of a wolf who had denied his mate.  All he could do was remain with his pack mate.  As he held Derek, a soft winking of light caught his eye and he frowned.  Reaching out, Peter picked up what he thought was going to be a wayward glass splinter but instead, he realized it was a diamond.  A perfect teardrop diamond.  Derek, momentarily startled out of his anguish, stared at the tiny gem.

"Is that -- is that a --"

"The tears of a phoenix, Derek.  One of the reasons they were hunted in the old legends ... they weep diamonds.  Our little firebird will grieve you for the remainder of his days, Derek," Peter murmured, glancing toward the window where more small stars glittered on the carpet.

Derek rose slowly and walked over to pick on up.  It gleamed in the fading light.  His enhanced sight told him it was flawless -- he was holding a small fortune in his hand.  He looked at his ring finger where a dark band rested.  After their impromptu engagement, Stiles had promised Derek a ring worthy of a wolf.  Derek asked for that to be his wedding ring and had chosen a simple titanium band as a placeholder of sorts.  Stiles would wear a ring made of black diamond since his natural abilities tended to melt most other materials.  Derek closed his fist over the diamond.

"I'm a fool."

Peter quoted softly.  "' _If thou remember'st not the slightest folly that ever love did make thee run into, thou hast not lov'd.'_ "  He patted Derek on the shoulder.  "We'll find him and you can beg his forgiveness, nephew."

"He'll never --"

"Derek."

Derek turned to see his mother standing in the doorway.  Her eyes gleamed with unshed tears.  "You are my son and I love you but you have always flung yourself headlong into whatever moves your heart."  She crossed the floor to Derek and gently cupped his cheek.  "You suffer for sins that are not yours.  Yes, you left your Pack vulnerable.  You also never stopped fighting to save us even though you were in terrible pain."  Talia sighed.  "We have always been hunted by humans.  The Argents are not the first and they will not be the last.  And the next time they will have to deal with you, Derek.  You will not let harm come to us again, I know."  She reached down and took the diamond from Derek's hand.  "You run from the pain because you fear losing what is so dear to you.  I know you don't want to lose Stiles but there is _always_ the possibility that he can return to you in some fashion in his next life.  Did you consider this?  We live a long time, Derek.  Would you wait for him if you knew you could?"

Derek's mouth opened and closed.  He nodded, unable to find the words.  Talia smiled softly.  "We should go find your love, then.  It's getting dark."


End file.
